Immortal Coil
by Queen Boadicea
Summary: After the destruction of Sunnydale, Spike faces his final judgment.


Title: Immortal Coil

Author: Queen Boadicea

Email: queenboadiceaoftheiceni@yahoo.com

Spoiler Warning: BtVS seasons four through seven

Disclaimer: This belongs to Joss Whedon and the usual gang of idi…uh, geniuses.

Pairing: Buffy/Riley mention; B/S implied

Feedback: Do your worst; it can't compare to my worst ;)

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"I love you!"

There it was, those sweet words he'd longed to hear from her ever since he'd declared his feelings over two years ago. She wound her fingers with his and he watched in bemusement while the fire licking his flesh ignited hers. Briefly, he wondered why the blaze didn't travel up her arm and why she didn't flinch from the pain. That was his Slayer: strong to the last.

Suddenly he panicked. She wasn't going to leave; she would stay here and be buried alive with him. The knowledge made him pull away from her grasp. He wasn't going to watch her die again, not for his sake! He cast about in his mind for the words that would drive her away. Then he smiled sadly.

"No, you don't. But thanks for saying it. Now go!" At that, he saw a flicker of doubt in her eyes as if she questioned her own words. The next moment she tore away and pelted up the stairs.

Well, sod it, she could have protested just a little. He was certain if Angel had denied her love, she would have argued her affections until her dying breath.

But he had saved her. He had saved them all and that was what mattered. The fire consuming him, he laughed maniacally as he faced his destruction. The flames licked over his body; he could feel himself crumbling to ashes. And then…

His eyes opened with difficulty. His vision swam as he floated weightlessly and he stared through the narrow aperture. There was a red light flashing and he could vaguely hear voices raised in alarm. What the bloody hell…? Where was he?

The red light kept flashing, the sirens wailed and the assistant reading his novel jerked up in shock. "Shit, what the fuck? What's going on?"

The other man in the white lab coat began frantically pressing buttons that registered and regulated the "vital" signs of the subject. "I don't know. Seventeen's coming out of stasis."

"That's impossible!"

"Tell that to the machines," the older man whose nametag read "Jamieson" snapped. "Besides, it almost happened a couple of times before."

"Yeah, but he never actually came out of it. None of them have," Detweiler replied.

Jamieson knew Detweiler was right but he didn't know how to explain and he wasn't going to speculate about the implications. "Increase the sedative levels and run the 'Purgatory' scenario."

Detweiler complied, watching the switchboard as it monitored the sluggish movements of the figure in the tank. "Purgatory? Think he'll buy that?"

Jamieson eyed the screens as the naked demon floating in the saline solution returned to its eerie inertia. "Why not? He bought all the other crap."

The other man anxiously watched the tank. He'd heard some of the rumors regarding Hostile 17 and had been suitably terrified by the horrific tales of violence and sadism. This monster was more dangerous than a rabid dog and, although his fears had been allayed somewhat as the days passed and nothing of interest occurred, he never forgot what a nasty specimen was being held in the bowels of the Initiative.

Jamieson understood Detweiler's concern and privately shared them. But he thought there might be good news. "I think we should give this latest development to Professor Walsh."

Detweiler grinned in relief. "Good idea. Let somebody else play babysitter for a change."

Professor Walsh steepled her fingers and bent her calm stare on the panel of men seated opposite her. Her placid demeanor belied the excitement she felt running under the surface. A year ago these men had come to her begging for a solution to their pressing problem. Now she was certain she had it. All she had to do was convince them.

No problem. Maggie Walsh could be extremely convincing when she wanted. "Gentlemen, I have the latest reports on our most promising subject, Hostile 17. You've read his files, I trust?"

One of the men—Mr. Parker, head of security at the Los Angeles State of California Men's Correctional Facility—picked up his folder and opened it. "We have, Professor Walsh. You have to understand how skeptical we were about the nature of this creature."

"We realize that. That's why we had our men bring out some of the captured hostiles and dispatch them in front of you. You saw the nature of their demise, how they responded to sunlight, garlic and other substances."

"Indeed," Mr. Parker murmured. It had taken a tour of the Initiative facilities before they could credit the notion of demons living amongst humans. Seeing vampires staked and reduced to ashes in front of their very eyes had been the crowning touch. Still, it was all a bit much to swallow.

"Very well. Then you will also understand why we picked them as our test subjects." Professor Walsh opened her folder and watched as the judging panel did the same. She didn't need to read what was written there; she merely made the gesture to give her words the weight of authority.

"You indicated that the nation's prisons are dangerously overcrowded, that recidivistic felons who resist any kind of rehabilitation or therapy from prison psychoanalysts are released and re-released back into society where they continue with their vile practices and criminal behaviors. We therefore came up with the idea of the behavioral modification device—hereafter referred to as the b-mod chip.

"We immediately scrapped the idea of working on animals. It is nearly impossible to get mindless beasts to abandon savage behavior and adopt another way of life unless they are reared that way from infancy and even then bears and lions raised as 'pets' will inadvertently hurt their human benefactors. Putting a chip in such an animal wouldn't curb its violent tendencies and the animal wouldn't understand where the pain was coming from or how to modify its course of action so as to keep it from recurring. 

"We therefore selected vampires and similar hostiles as our test subjects. They are close to being like the human criminals you wish to reform in their behavioral patterns, their appearance, their social habits and their murderous ways. Because they are dead, however, they have no constitutional rights and can be operated on and studied with impunity."

"So this was used on other vampires? Not just this Hostile 17?" That came from Dr. Ostein, the resident psychiatrist at the Californian prison. He was mainly concerned with the psychological aspects of the case. The problem of prison overcrowding was of secondary importance for him.

"That's correct. They all showed vast improvements and changes in their behavior. But the most astounding case was that of Hostile 17. Because of him, we believe the b-mod chip is ready to use on human subjects."

Dr. Ostein frowned. He had more faith in therapy and disliked the idea of using technology as some sort of convenient shortcut. "Before we go implanting computer hardware in human craniums, I believe I'd like to run through your report while you clear up a few matters for us, Professor."

"Of course. Let's hear your questions and I and my team," she waved her hand at her crack staff seated beside her, "will do our best to answer them."

"First of all, you had him escape in the dreamscape you fashioned for him. Why?" This came from Mr. Mannheim, a rather burly man who found the hard, unbending chairs in the meeting room increasingly uncomfortable. He specialized in authorizing government funds for projects such as Professor Walsh's. He'd heard nothing but good things about her innovative ideas and bold undertakings but this latest idea of hers had raised a few eyebrows when it came across his desk. Behavior modification had military as well as medical possibilities but the idea that convicts should be allowed back into society went against the grain.

"We needed to see how the hostile would react under normal circumstances. And it's not a dreamscape as such, sir," Walsh corrected. "You can't keep someone in a perpetual dream any more than you can keep someone indefinitely in a trance. Sooner or later the subject would awaken, although rather weakened and disoriented. That's not what we wanted for our subject."

"Then if it isn't a dream, what is it exactly?" Dr. Ostein asked.

"It's an elaborate mental simulation set up from within the subject's psyche and carefully watched and monitored from without by our trained staff. When the slightest suspicion rears its head in the mind of the subject about the events or scenes surrounding it, one of our team quickly readjusts the mental 'landscape' to accommodate its inventions. The test subject does the rest."

Mr. Parker asked, "And it never once guessed that what was happening to it wasn't real?"

One of Professor Walsh's team spoke up then. Marisa Bollivar had been responsible for seeing that none of the equipment monitoring the various test subjects had malfunctioned. She was a dark-haired woman with an intense stare to match her extreme devotion to any project she undertook. She had grilled her staff of underlings ruthlessly on the importance of seeing that the machines were kept running at top efficiency at all times. "Over the past three weeks there have been some close calls. But the ego of the creature is such that it believed its 'escape' and the bungling inability of trained Marines to retrieve it were genuine. It has no idea that from the moment of the operation to implant the b-mod chip it has lain suspended in a saline solution in an artificially maintained container."

Dr. Ostein queried, "What happened in the simulation after its escape?"

Professor Walsh replied, "Hostile 17 of course immediately tried to return to its previous ways. It attempted to hunt down one Buffy Summers in order to kill her."

Mr. Mannheim flipped over his sheet and pursed his lips in thought. "Yes, you mention this Buffy Summers many times in your report. You say she's some sort of—superhero?" The faint disbelieving tone in his voice raised a few muffled snickers from the rest of his group. 

Professor Walsh ignored them and did her best to remain unruffled by their amused contempt. "I found it hard to believe as well, sir. But it appears that an elaborate and well-established cabal exists to monitor the existence and destruction of creatures such as these. After careful evaluation of the situation, it was judged prudent to let Buffy Summers continue her mission here in Sunnydale. She has been kept under surveillance, of course. Ms. Summers has no idea that her actions are as meticulously reported on as that of our test subjects."

"I see. So after this hostile tried to murder Ms. Summers, then what happened?" Dr. Ostein continued.

Ms. Bollivar responded by referring to her notes. She envied Professor Walsh's photographic memory; shuffling among papers slowed down the presentation and made her appear unsure of herself. "He couldn't locate Ms. Summers at first. That didn't bother him. He was uncaring at this point about his choice of victims; he was merely hungry. So he latched onto a member of her support group. Naturally, the chip was activated and he suffered the most agonizing pain."

"It did? Why would he have that in his scenario?"

"He didn't. The chip is set up to respond to even the thought of extreme violence. So when he imagined himself attacking the helpless female…"

"—the chip kicked in. Very good." Mr. Parker nodded approvingly.

"When the subject realized it couldn't hurt human beings, it became overwhelmed with despair. It tried to commit suicide."

"That's rather alarming," Dr. Ostein said, a frown creasing his brows. "We don't want our criminals offing themselves. We want to be able to release them into society."

Ms. Bollivar attempted to cover up her gaff. "That was an extreme reaction on Hostile 17's part. Most of the other subjects found ways around their difficulties. They resorted to attacking and eating pets, rats, stray animals or going to the local butchers for their food supply."

The doctor still wasn't quite satisfied. "Why didn't Hostile 17 immediately adapt?"

Professor Walsh allowed herself a faint smile. "I'll field that one. We discovered through monitoring the scenario that Hostile 17 is a creature of enormous ego. Its self-image was based on its reputation as a terror among demons and killer of human beings in general. The notion that it couldn't harm anyone was a severe blow, one it felt it couldn't live with."

"How did you prevent his 'suicide' then?" Mr. Mannheim asked.

"We inserted one of Ms. Summers's friends at a crucial juncture. The woman—a Ms. Willow Rosenberg—intervened and urged the subject not to terminate itself."

"Why would such a person help the hostile? Why would it believe that she would?"

"When the hostile escaped, it had nowhere to go. As I said, its self-construct was that of a vicious monster. It couldn't go to the demon world for help; it was too afraid of ridicule and the lack of acceptance among its own kind. Since Buffy Summers apparently had relied on its help beforehand, it believed it could go to her for shelter and protection. Of course, it is extremely unlikely that the real Buffy Summers would ever aid this creature. But it had no difficulty in believing that the simulated version of this young woman would be too noble to kill a creature as helpless as itself. That erroneous idea has been maintained throughout the entire simulation."

Dr. Ostein pursued this line of questioning. "So it adjusted to its altered status?" 

"Not without resistance at first. At times, it attempted to get the chip removed. We always managed to alter the scenario to thwart any such effort."

"So what happened after the false Ms. Summers took the hostile under her wing?"

"The creature discovered that it was able to attack and kill other hostiles. So it made itself of use to her. But its manner was still that of a criminal thug. Whenever the others in the Sunnydale scenario made the mistake of trusting it too far, it would always revert to its criminal persona. It was as if the idea of being an offender was one it couldn't bear to discard."

"That's not really reassuring, Professor," Mr. Parker replied in a dry tone.

"No one would expect total reform from any criminal right away, Mr. Parker," Professor Walsh responded in an equally dry manner. "There was bound to be some backsliding."

Dr. Ostein adjusted his glasses as he perused this section of the folder. "Yes. It was mentioned that the hostile resorted to aiding a Frankenstein's monster named Adam by sowing seeds of discontent among Ms. Summers's group. Why did it imagine such a clumsy construct as this Adam creature?" 

"Hostile 17 has an extreme martyr complex to go along with its massive ego. It imagined itself the victim of the Initiative and Professor Walsh as some sort of mad scientist type. It probably constructed Adam out of the same cloth as Mary Shelley's creation." That was ventured by Dr. Wellington, Professor Walsh's personal assistant. The man was reed-thin and gave the impression of even greater intellectual precision than Walsh, if that was possible.

Mr. Parker met the name with a blank look of incomprehension. "Mary who?" 

Wellington clarified. "The author of the original story of Frankenstein. This hostile became a vampire in 1880; the novel was conceived in the summer of 1816 and published in 1818. The human being who became Spike—the vampire name the hostile assumed—would have been well aware of her novel."

"So it stole a figure from fiction in order to flesh out its fantasy? Why?" Parker demanded.

"Like the monster in the novel, Adam turned against his creator and he killed Professor Walsh. Hostile 17 used the creation to do what it wished to do and couldn't—take a human life. The Adam construct also served another purpose. At one point the hostile made a bargain with it in order to have its chip removed."

"I take it this 'attempt' failed?" Parker chimed in, his eyes narrowing.

Bollivar nodded. "It did. We had our staff watching. The moment Hostile 17 tried to use Adam, we had the simulated monster turn on him and try to kill him. Hostile 17 switched his loyalty back to Buffy's group. After that there were no more tries at removing the chip."

"A creature of fluctuating loyalties based on its own self interest. It's rather hard to see a reformed character in that, Professor," Dr. Ostein ventured.

Mr. Mannheim pursed his lips and idly lifted a few more pages of his report. "The creature adapted to the chip. But adaptation is done all the time by creatures in nature. That doesn't indicate a real attitude adjustment on the part of the animal involved. A black butterfly is no different than a white one save in terms of color."

Professor Walsh brushed aside the facile analogy. "Yes, we realized that. So we added an incentive for the subject's behavior." Here she hesitated slightly. She hadn't been certain about this next step and had argued it strenuously with her people before reluctantly conceding the point.

Mr. Mannheim seized on her hesitancy. "What incentive, Professor? Was the creature bribed in some manner? According to your notes, the only reason it agreed to help Ms. Summers and her associates is because it was paid to do so. That's hardly better than a felon who commits crimes in the hope of cheap and easy cash."

"This—was a different kind of incentive. On the recommendation of my team, we decided to form an emotional attachment between the hostile and Buffy Summers."

"An emotional attachment?" Mr. Parker flipped through his sheets. Buffy Summers's records and those of her friends were impressively massive to the point where he hadn't had time to sift through the finer details of Hostile 17's supposed reformation. "I thought one already existed. Didn't the subject hate her to the point of attempting her murder? Several times, according to your report."

"Quite. We thought it would be simple to shift his feelings from antagonism to affection. It proved remarkably easy, I might add. Thin line between love and hate and all that." Ms. Bollivar smiled at her feeble joke only to feel it slide off her face as the members of judging panel stared at her incredulously.

"Are you trying to imply that you convinced this creature it was in _love_ with Ms. Summers? I refuse to believe such a thing is possible. You can't persuade someone to be in love against his inclination." Mr. Parker snorted at the very idea. He missed the speculative gleam in Dr. Ostein's eyes.

"I beg to differ, Mr. Parker," Dr. Ostein murmured. "In the course of my career, I've met a great many men who were certain they were madly in love with a woman they may have dated only once. They would construct elaborate fantasies about her and obsess about her to the point of madness, often to the woman's detriment and loss of her safety and life."

Mr. Parker added, "Again, I hardly find that reassuring." 

Mr. Mannheim shook his head, his disbelief evident. "Just how was this shift in his feelings accomplished?"

Ms. Bollivar was determined to salvage the situation. "We inserted a dream fantasy in his mind. In the dream, he was in close proximity with Ms. Summers and fighting with her after yet another attempt on her life. Suddenly he kissed her and told her he loved her. He awoke from this 'dream' and from then on the notion that he harbored a secret affection took firm hold in his psyche. Try as he might to fight these feelings—and he didn't try particularly hard—he became firmly convinced that he loved her."

"You planted a dream _inside_ the mental simulation? Incredible!" Mr. Mannheim exclaimed. He couldn't help but be impressed and Ms. Bollivar beamed with pride. Professor Walsh quelled her with an icy stare. She hadn't approved of the love ploy; she thought it smacked of cheap sentiment. 

Mr. Parker evidently agreed with her. "That's all well and good. But we can hardly have every convict falling in love as an incentive to quit a life of crime. I not only doubt its feasibility but consider how unfortunate that would be for the innocent men and women out there who'd done nothing to merit such attentions and wouldn't know how to deal with them."

Dr. Ostein interrupted with his own concerns. "Back to that, Professor Walsh. I looked over some of your later notes regarding Hostile 17's behavior under the influence of this new feeling falsely instilled into him. Frankly, it was deeply alarming and not at all what we were hoping to see."

"I agree with you, Dr. Ostein. But because of this feeling, the hostile's mindset began to shift radically. It protected Ms. Summers many times when it didn't have to and extended its protection to members of her team albeit rather grudgingly."

"But its behavior continued to be rather antisocial, didn't it?" Mr. Parker lifted a sheet and began reciting some of the things he saw. "It followed Ms. Summers, looked into her windows at night, spied on her when she was engaging in sexual relations, stole articles of clothing and underwear and built a shrine to her created from various personal objects filched from her home." 

He slapped down the paper and leveled an outraged stare in Walsh's direction. "This is the textbook behavioral pattern of a stalker, Professor, and one that many police officers are trained to detect. Such men invariably present a grave danger to their victims. How can you claim that this, this, monster was rehabilitated given the nature of such misconduct?"

Professor Walsh's face became completely blank. This was where things were going to get tricky. Hostile 17's behavior under the influence of love was less than stellar and the comparison to such men as Mr. Parker described would be inevitable. She would have to find a way to present it in the best possible light.

"It's true, sir. I saw this initial behavior as deeply alarming. However, the false Summers continued to reject Hostile 17's attentions. She refused to see him as worthy even when he tried his utmost to prove himself to her. Given her abilities to fight him off, he resigned himself to helping her and subsequently restricted his attentions to her as that of mere support."

Mr. Parker's answering stare was icy. "How lucky for her. Most women are incapable of repelling their attackers physically, Professor. I hope you're aware of that."

Something about the situation as Professor Walsh described it didn't make sense to Mannheim. "Why would she reject him? Wouldn't he make her more willing and accepting of his attentions in time?" he asked.

Ms. Bollivar shrugged. "You would think so but no. According to the personality profile we were able to generate about it, Hostile 17 is a creature of immense ego but very fragile self esteem."

Mr. Parker was puzzled. "Isn't that a contradiction? What's the difference?" 

Dr. Ostein chimed in before Walsh could answer. "Self esteem is generated from within. If a person has a strong self-image, it takes a great deal in order to shatter it. Ego, on the other hand, is validated from without—what other people think about you, say about you, their opinions, your reputation, etc. Everyone's self-image, to a certain extent, is made up of our own ideas of worth and the judgment of others."

Professor Walsh inclined her head, silently acknowledging Dr. Ostein's definition. "During its life, Hostile 17 was ridiculed by his peers and humiliated by the woman he loved. He fancied himself a poet, you see, only he was a very _bad_ poet."

"That explains his theft of the Frankenstein monster. No imagination to create his own creature," Mannheim muttered.

Walsh continued with scarcely a pause. "He has always held the secret notion that he doesn't quite measure up to those around him. Most of this attitude manifests itself in arrogant posturing. When he decided to become a force for good, he suffered the same crushing sense of inadequacy, that he would never be good enough for Buffy's group, that he would never be good enough for _her_. Therefore, in spite of his many attempts to win her, in his mind he could never succeed."

"But the stalking—" Dr. Ostein asked.

"Yes. That was his idea of showing affection. He _is_ a monster, you understand; flowers and candy simply wouldn't be in his vocabulary when it came to expressing love. But he did find some validation in Buffy's younger sister, Dawn," Ms. Bollivar added.

"But Buffy Summers doesn't have a sister," Mr. Mannheim ventured. He patted the "Summers" file lying next to him. "I admit I only skimmed the dossier on this young lady. It mentions her mother and a father currently living in Los Angeles. But there's nothing about a sister unless I missed something."

"That's because the teenager Dawn Summers doesn't exist," Walsh answered. "She was a construct just like the Adam monster."

"And why would he create a teenager in this scenario?" Mr. Parker asked. Unconsciously Dr. Ostein leaned forward. He was eager to hear this himself. Hostile 17 was rapidly becoming more than a shadowy, unseen lab rat. He was acquiring the status of an exciting mental case like that of someone suffering from multiple personalities.

"In his scenario, Dawn Summers was a magical being, a girl created by unseen monks. She was a being of mystical energy given flesh but, unlike her sister, she had no way of drawing on this power. She was helpless and therefore in need of a strong, powerful male to protect her when Buffy could not."

"So Hostile 17 took on the role of her champion," Dr. Ostein mused.

For the first time, one of Bollivar's assistants spoke up. He was a young man with a heavily acned face that he'd tried in vain to clear up. Randolph said, "Actually, we believe that he created the Dawn figure so as to wedge himself more firmly into Buffy Summers's life." 

Ms. Bollivar frowned in Randolph's direction. She had told her team again and again that they were never to refer to test subjects by gender. Hostile 17 was to remain an _it_, not a male. "It did more than that. You see, Dawn Summers was literally made out of Buffy Summers's flesh. Dawn, therefore, became a younger, less mature version of Buffy Summers herself. Because of that, she developed a childish worship of Hostile 17 that her sister did not. She loved all the things about 17 that her sister rejected—his attention and affection, his thuggishness, his swagger, his bleached blonde hair, his smoking and his endless tales of bloodshed and murder. They all spoke to her adolescent heart. Thus 17 managed to have his cake and eat it, too. He had his love of Buffy Summers and he had the adoration of her younger sister to stand in for Buffy's rejection."

"Ingenious. Perhaps this poet had imagination after all," Dr. Ostein commented with raised eyebrows in Mr. Mannheim's direction. Mannheim shrugged his shoulders but refrained from comment. He wasn't going to see any humanity in this creature no matter what Dr. Ostein thought. That kind of sentimentality was a luxury he couldn't afford in his line of work.

Ms. Bollivar was evidently of the same opinion. "Actually, the creation of the fictional Dawn Summers seems to serve as a bookend for the Adam construct: the monster as Adam, the girl as Eve created from her sister's rib. It's rather simplistic if you give it careful consideration."

Randolph had gained confidence by his earlier contribution to the conversation. "He-it also created a powerful enemy specifically designed to attack Dawn Summers—a hellgod by the name of Glory." 

Parker snorted. "He imagined a god? That's a bit much, isn't it?"

Professor Walsh said, "Well, his god had flaws, obviously. She was trapped in one body along with her mortal brother, a man called Dr. Ben Williams. The doctor was the one who helped work on Buffy's mother after she became ill."

Dr. Ostein tapped his folder once more. "There's no mention of an illness in the dossier."

"Again, that was a fabrication of Hostile 17's imagination. It had figured out that Buffy Summers was more formidable when her team surrounded her. At first, he tried to break up her team with insinuation and rumor. Now he was constructing scenarios to break it down in ways that wouldn't be his fault. His first attempt to do so was by giving Mrs. Summers an incurable brain tumor. 

"When Mrs. Summers died, Buffy was deeply saddened and Hostile 17 became more important as he provided her with immortal strength against her trials that the others could not. Had Buffy Summers's mother remained alive, she doubtless would have counseled her daughter against accepting so much of 17's aid. So he polished her off in his scenario."

"So by making this doctor who failed to save Joyce Summers a part of Glory, he put two enemies into one convenient package. Very neat," Dr. Ostein noted. 

Bollivar spoke up again. "He began drawing closer to Ms. Summers when he constructed a mental illness on the part of Agent Finn."

"Agent Finn? I remember. He's one of your operatives in the field. He also has a—relationship with Ms. Summers?" Mr. Mannheim hinted in a delicate tone.

Professor Walsh saw no reason to mince words. "Agent Finn is having a romantic affair with Buffy Summers, yes. He didn't do so under orders from me. That is entirely his own doing. But his inclusion in Ms. Summers's little society has proven very useful. Thanks to his constant observations and reports, we have been able to draw up detailed analyses of Ms. Summers's friends, their habits, behavior, speech patterns, modes of dress, their workplaces, lifestyles, etc. It has allowed us to refine our amendments in Hostile 17's scenarios in exquisite detail. Now we can dabble in the simulations to the point where 17 cannot detect any deviation between it and his own worldview."

"About Agent Finn… You mentioned that the hostile faked a mental illness for him?" Dr. Ostein prodded.

Randolph chimed in. "He wanted to get Finn away from Ms. Summers. So he had him visiting vampire whore brothels."

Dr. Ostein was unmoved by this but Mr. Parker's lip curled in disgust. "Vampire what? Do such places really exist?"

"I'm afraid so, sir," Walsh reluctantly conceded. "Apparently there exist places where human beings pay to have vampires draw their blood. It's supposed to be quite an exhilarating experience. But since humans weren't being killed for the most part, we judged it unworthy of our attention." She was surprised herself when she found out about them and had briefly considered deploying a team of soldiers to clear out the nests. Then she dismissed it as being a social problem and not worth the expenditure of military might to deal with the situation.

Parker struggled to get his revulsion under control. "Right. So Agent Finn was placed in one of these—places. What then?"

"In that scenario, Hostile 17 arranged for Buffy to witness one such encounter. It led to the breakup of Buffy's relationship with Finn."

"Paving the way for the hostile to make his move, no doubt," Parker interjected.

"Yes, that was his intention. But his attempt was a complete and utter fiasco, resulting in Buffy's ultimate rejection and that of her friends," Dr. Bollivar pointed out.

"I should say so. Chaining a woman to a wall doesn't rank up there with successful ways to win a girl's heart in my book." Mr. Parker leaned back and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Professor Walsh. Your efforts here are admirable and this b-mod chip a brilliant piece of technology. But so far all you've shown is a creature who has shown little inclination to change its basic nature and enough wit and ingenuity to work around the pain your chip is supposed to induce. I fail to see how this will help our prison space shortage problem."

"Mr. Parker, you've overlooked a very vital piece of information. All these actions we speak of took place over a three-week period of time. Yet Hostile 17 believes that it has been _three years_. The test subject has made a remarkable turnaround in terms of behavior and attitude adjustment. That is incredible given how long such reformation usually takes with conventional methods. In time 17 became willing to do good on its own and we were certain would continue to do so. So we decided that the 'love' aspect of the simulation had run its course. We seized on the hellgod Glory as the perfect setup."

"Setup for what?" Mr. Mannheim wasn't certain he cared for the smile flitting around Professor Walsh's face. At times he found the woman to be too chilly, too devoted to science for its own sake rather than its potential benefit for mankind. It took all his self-control not to indicate his unease around her.

"We decided to eliminate Buffy Summers from the Sunnydale scenario. Please turn to page 102, paragraph 12."

There was a long silence while the men shuffled through the 17 folder to the passage indicated. Dr. Ostein was the first to look up. "You had her throw herself off a makeshift tower. That was rather extreme, don't you think?"

"Originally, 17 meant to climb the tower and rescue Dawn from the demon threatening her. It saw himself as the conquering hero, no doubt." Ms. Bollivar replied. "It was going to climb the tower, defeat the dragon so to speak and walk down with the fainting maiden in its arms. It even had her garbed in some medieval type of gown." She exchanged a brief look of amusement with the rest of the scientific team and they all chuckled dutifully.

Randolph picked up the thread again. "But we took care of that. We had the demon the test subject was fighting knife it in the ribs and throw it off the tower. Without the hostile's interference, it began to bleed Dawn Summers. Because the consumption of blood plays such a large part of the vampire's worldview, Glory needed Dawn's blood for her plan. Buffy decided since her blood was the same as her sister's she should sacrifice herself in Dawn's place. Buffy jumped, the world was saved and no more love object for 17 to fixate on," he finished triumphantly.

Randolph had been responsible for crafting most of the mini dramas for the various hostiles; he was particularly proud of what he'd done with the Glory storyline. Secretly he could relate to 17's misery of the frustrated poet. Randolph's compositions had never been considered very good in English class; the Initiative provided the perfect opportunity to vent his meager talents in this direction.

Dr. Ostein didn't acknowledge Randolph's achievement. He was more interested in what followed. "But that state of affairs didn't last, did it?" He gazed meaningfully at the young man and Randolph fidgeted.

"Well, Hostile 17 did continue to help Ms. Summers's friends for an entire summer in spite of her absence from the scenario. I'd say that shows drastic improvement over his earlier behavior," the young man replied defensively.

"And yet it resurrected her. Perhaps that had been its intention all along," Mannheim rapped out. He could tell this Randolph wasn't as confident as the rest of them about the subject's supposed betterment; he was definitely the weak link in Professor Walsh's team.

Ms. Bollivar decided it would be better if she fielded this. Randolph obviously wasn't going to be able to handle this kind of deliberate questioning. "We admit we didn't foresee this happening. It appears our decision to kill Buffy Summers was one the subject's mind refused to accept. And since they live in a world where the concept of magic is feasible, it forcibly brought her back. It had her friends resurrect her."

"Why her friends? Why not do it himself?" Mr. Parker had to admit the more fanciful aspects of this 'tale' baffled him. He considered himself a levelheaded, practical man. Accepting demons was one thing; magic was a whole other kettle of fish. It wasn't something he felt comfortable with.

"We believe Hostile 17 adopted this plan as a means of making Buffy more accessible to itself. The 'resurrection' scenario it imposed drastically altered Ms. Summers's character. According to many such folktales circulated among these hostiles, such a—process often changes a person and rarely for the better. Hostile 17 chose this method to bring Ms. Summers on a level with itself and, by having her friends responsible for the actual resurrection, freed itself of any guilt or blame for her subsequent aberrant behavior."

Dr. Ostein seized on that. "Yes. It couldn't rise to her level so it brought her down to his. That hardly makes a case for your claim the subject has improved its character."

Professor Walsh didn't turn a hair. "You have to understand, gentlemen, that in spite of any changes, the subject essentially remains a creature not altogether human. Rather than dwelling on how little it appears to have altered, think how extraordinary the changes you've seen are given its basic nature."

The head of security began to believe that this was all a dead end—in more ways than one. "Are you joking, Professor? The 'relationship' detailed in your report indicates a sordid, sadistic/masochistic liaison in which your subject abused and was abused by this young woman. She in turn was made to neglect her friends and family so she could continue her sexual obsession with this monster. This subject essentially twisted the world around it to conform to its own sick agenda. How does this indicate reformation?"

"Because once again the relationship with Ms. Summers was not what the creature wished or hoped for. Buffy was no longer the woman it had fallen in love with. Underneath any sexual gratification the subject may have felt lay a deep dissatisfaction with the overall nature of the relationship. It couldn't change Buffy any more, not without seriously jeopardizing her place in the Sunnydale scenario. So it decided to change itself."

Dr. Ostein and Mr. Mannheim reached automatically for their folders when Professor Walsh's team opened theirs. Mr. Parker, however, was now weary of the whole business. "Professor Walsh, I admire your dedication to this unusual tactic you've taken. But from where I'm sitting all you've done is make a new source of entertainment for fans of the Internet." He shoved back from the table, obviously preparing to rise.

The scientific team glanced at each other with dismay. With Parker's imminent departure, the other two men appeared to waver in their attention. Professor Walsh was the only one to remain serene.

"Doesn't the fact that the subject retrieved its own soul hold any interest for you, Mr. Parker?"

The quietly spoken words had their intended effect. Mr. Parker halted in rising and stared in surprise at the professor. "His soul? What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, I don't mean his literal soul. Remember, we're still talking about a corpse suspended in a tank, gentlemen. But, according to the mental simulation, after its last rejection by Ms. Summers, the subject went on a sojourn to Africa where after a series of trials it was granted the return of its soul."

She leaned back and watched with satisfaction as Mr. Parker took his seat again, her eyes never flinching from his. The other gentlemen's expressions registered surprise and skepticism in equal measure. Dr. Ostein asked, "Professor Walsh, we are delving into the area of metaphysics here. The existence of souls is a subject that has been argued ad nauseam by far more qualified people than are present in this room. Let us stick to actual scientific facts, shall we?"

Ms. Bollivar understood Dr. Ostein's dismissal of Walsh's revelation. They had to impress upon these men the importance of this discovery. "Dr. Ostein, where our test subjects are concerned, we've found a great deal that defies conventional thinking and medical and scientific knowledge. There is much we don't know nor understand about these hostiles. If we adhere to the mythological worldview surrounding Hostile 17, we must concede that it is a vampire, that it thinks of itself as one and that the possession of a soul is anathema and against everything it is and stands for. For it to go out and retrieve its soul is the equivalent of one of us going on a quest for the Holy Grail—and succeeding."

Mr. Mannheim knew that he ought to be impressed by this latest news. But he failed to see how this was of any relevance. "So it got a soul. So what?"

Professor Walsh raised her eyebrows. "I'm surprised you could ask, Mr. Mannheim. The soul is supposed to be the seat of humanity, the thing that differentiates us from animals and these subjects. A soul is meant to provide a moral compass, to help us distinguish between right and wrong. Without souls, the best of us is little better than a beast, controlled only by the whims of our id and ego. The deliberate attainment of 17's soul shows a sincere desire to better itself, one based not on hope of reward, cheap cash or personal gain but the urge to change. Just as we've been trying to illustrate."

Dr. Ostein came to the end of his report and frowned. "Very well. You indicate it recovered its soul. But your report ends there. While that is an interesting fact in and of itself, it would remain merely as a footnote on some medical treatise. It still doesn't warrant approval for testing on human subjects who already possess souls, professor."

Professor Walsh allowed herself the merest bit of satisfaction. "I have to admit the report is somewhat misleading in this respect, Dr. Ostein. You see, the latest development was of a very recent nature and couldn't be included at the last minute. That's why your reports terminate at such an unsatisfactory juncture." She glanced at Randolph. "Would you like to tell the gentlemen about the most recent outcome of the Sunnydale scenario?"

Randolph flushed slightly at being singled out by the professor. Most of the time she couldn't be bothered to look at him much less address him directly. He held up the newest additions, the information given by Detweiler and Jamieson among their contents, and slid them across the table to the waiting panel. 

"Well, uh…" He cleared his throat and began again. "As we've indicated before, Hostile 17 didn't have much in the way of imagination. On its return to the Sunnydale scenario after being in Africa, it conjured up a nebulous and somewhat feeble enemy for Buffy to fight, one of apparently limitless resources but rather limited power."

He caught Professor Walsh's eye and realized she wasn't interested in a drawn-out, detailed summation. "Well, to make a long story short, Buffy Summers had the chip removed from 17. Now Hostile 17 possessed a soul but no chip. It was free to go back to its life of killing and wanton destruction. But instead it chose to fight for the sake of the world. It once again imagined itself as the hero. It committed suicide just as Buffy Summers did in our imposed 'Glory' setup. But instead of doing it for a reward or to win the lady's heart, it sacrificed itself to save the planet."

Mr. Parker had resumed his seat and listened impassively to Randolph's recitation. Dr. Ostein and Mr. Mannheim were struggling to understand this bombshell as they perused the addenda and whispered together in low voices. This time Mannheim was the first to recover. "Are you telling me that, after getting a soul, this creature willingly died to save humanity?"

The professor nodded. She didn't point out that demons had also been preserved in the scenario. The review panel obviously didn't care about them; let them consider mankind to be the only things of note. She could scent victory in the air and she waited with patience for the outcome.

"This—this is quite extraordinary, professor. In light of this information, I am perfectly willing to allow the go-ahead for the next level of your testing. You would be using volunteers, of course," Mannheim added. 

Parker turned over the idea in his head, the possibilities for the chip racing through his mind. "Yes. Criminals on death row might be given the option of the b-mod chip implantation in exchange for possible release from their sentencing."

"I can see how this might help in therapy as well, Professor." Dr. Ostein glanced at the two men beside him. "I take it we are all in agreement, then. The B-Mod Project has my recommendation."

Mannheim stood, a silent signal that caused the others to stand as well. "I'll have to run all this by my committee back home, of course, Professor. But judging by what we've heard and seen here, I think I can guarantee your funding for further tests and research. Good luck."

Everyone in the meeting room stood and there were handshakes and well wishes all around. The scientific team managed to curb their enthusiasm until the men had all departed. Then whoops and cheers broke out among the younger members. Professor Walsh and Ms. Bollivar were the only ones to retain their cool facades.

Ms. Bollivar drew the professor aside for a private conference. "I didn't want to mention this while the panel was here, Professor. But, now that the first stage of testing is over, I wondered what you wanted done with the hostiles."

The professor pursed her lips thoughtfully. Most of the various creatures contained in the Initiative's hold would provide years of endless study. However, she found that vampires, being of human birth, didn't really offer much in terms of scientific interest. She couldn't crack the mystery of why brain and adrenal functions continued to operate when the organs did not and that really didn't concern her unduly.

She hadn't given any great thought to 17's future either. Thanks to the wonders of the technology, three years in his existence had passed in three weeks and she had learned everything she wanted to know about the creature's past and its psychological mindset. Given that it had effectively committed suicide, she honestly didn't see that it had anything more to yield. 

Releasing it, however, was not an option. Once the creature realized that nothing it had experienced was real, it might very well revert to its previous ways and find a way to remove the chip. She couldn't risk that happening, not when she was so close to achieving her goal.

She turned to Ms. Bollivar who had stood patiently awaiting her answer. "Let's continue our other experiments on the various subjects. But we've finished with 17. Flood the tank with the special H2O." 

She adjusted her shirt and followed her jubilant team as they streamed out of the room. They would want to celebrate and she was willing to let them. Professor Walsh understood the importance of allowing employees moments of validation and celebration to ease tension and promote excellent work effort. She would permit this rare hour of relaxation. Soon the real work would begin.

Detweiler crumpled up a sheet of paper into a ball and aimed at the wastebasket, grunting in disappointment when he missed again. Jamieson took careful aim and threw his. He grinned smugly as his ball landed squarely in the round aperture. 

The intercom beeped and Detweiler's feet landed with a thud on the floor as he wheeled his chair over to the panel. "Detweiler here. What's the sitch?"

A scratchy female voice came over the intercom. "The order's come down. The money people have been here and gone. Professor Walsh wants you to give Hostile 17 the bath."

"Woohoo! It's about time," Detweiler crowed. He wheeled over to the section of the panel that regulated the tank 17 was held in. "One holy water flush coming up." He pressed the button and glanced at the metal tank housing the vampire's form as the water inside began to churn. "One down. Seventy-six to go." Detweiler picked up another sheet and glanced at his fellow watcher. "Wanna try for best five out of nine?"

__

Spike glanced around although he didn't know why he bothered. The white room was totally barren in terms of furniture or even a window. He'd been here for he didn't know how long and he was practically jumping out of his skin. At first he had banged on the walls and yelled for someone to talk to him. Getting no answer, he'd finally given up and sunk to the floor, propped up against one of the walls.

Confused images of his last few moments in Sunnydale began coming back to him. He kept lingering on Buffy's tear-stricken face and the love shining out of her hazel eyes. She loved him! He'd won that much and somehow his death didn't seem so bad knowing that. 

He looked up at the featureless room again and grunted in annoyance. He was getting heartily sick of this place. Where was he anyway? And what was that other place with the flashing red lights and the yelling voices? Had that been Hell?

Then he became aware of sibilant whispers echoing around the room. Try as he might to strain his ears, he couldn't make out words. "Oy! You wankers gonna talk to me or what? Where the fuck am I anyhow?"

"He's impatient." That sounded like a female in her mid- to upper-twenties although Spike couldn't be sure.

"He's angry." That was a male. His voice possessed deep tones as if from a baritone or older man.

"Bloody right, I'm angry! What's the big deal? I'm dead, aren' I? Supposed to be getting my final reward or some such deal?"

"Do you think you deserve a reward?" This voice was lofty, almost arrogant, and Spike bristled.

"Well, I saved the world, didn' I? Think that counts for something." He patted his pockets and remembered again that he didn't have any cigarettes. It was strange, really. He had on his usual black attire and his customary black leather coat but nothing else had been brought with him. Even the medallion he'd worn was missing. When he found out who was in charge, he was going to demand some fags. He wasn't actually jonesing for a cigarette; it just gave him something to do with his hands.

"Yes. It does indeed count for something. However, there are the matters of your various other activities." 

One wall in the room darkened and, like images from a film projector, quick scenes from his pre-soul existence flashed in front of him. "Crap. I thought your life was supposed to flash before your eyes before_ you died," Spike muttered._

"This is Purgatory, the realm of trial and final judgment. Naturally your life—or existence, in your case—would be brought before you. Have you anything to say regarding these activities?"

"Yeah, I do, 'smatter of fact. These things happened before I got my soul. I can hardly be held responsible for them, can I? I mean, I'm on judgment for my soul, right?" Spike replied, gesturing at the screen. The images froze briefly and then scenes of him attacking Buffy, Anya and Faith, killing innocent men and women after his final return to Sunnydale loomed before him and he cringed inwardly. 

"Right. Can't say as I was entirely guiltless there. But to be fair, Anya was a demon, Buffy struck first and that Faith bitch—I mean, woman—was trying to usurp the role of leader for the rightful Slayer. As for those other folks, I was being manipulated by that First Evil bastard. I wasn't in control of myself."

"Are you trying to say these women you assaulted deserved your wrath? And you feel no responsibility for any of your victims during the loss of your soul or after it was restored to you? Where is the remorse, the shame, the guilt and humility indicative of a soul truly fit to enter Heaven and come before God?"

Spike scowled. "Look, I never said I was perfect and humility weren't never my style. I only got my soul back last year, for fuck's—Christ's sake! Takes time to learn humbleness and all that rot. Maybe if I'd been on earth as long as the great poofster, I'd have had a chance to get it all right."

There was silence as if the voice were thinking things over and Spike found himself holding his non-existent breath. He wasn't going to beg to be spared eternal damnation but the notion of being broiled alive forever wasn't exactly appealing.

The arrogant voice resumed and now there was a new firmness in its tone. "Step forward, demon."

He wanted to tell it to go stuff itself but the alternative was to be stuck in this room indefinitely so pointless defiance really wasn't an option. He stood and swaggered to the middle of the room. The images from his past had disappeared and the room had resumed its formerly bland appearance.

"It is true your final act of self-sacrifice has saved the world. That in and of itself makes you worthy of heavenly reward."

Spike's lip twisted in a smirk. "I can sense a 'but' comin' here."

"Indeed. Even with your soul, you still possess a demon within you. This fiend may not enter Heaven."

In a moment, hope withered and died within him. Of course; just 'cause he got a soul injection didn't mean his inner monster had disappeared. "Yeah. I can see how that would piss off the angelic choir and all that. Right. Let's get this over with." He thrust back his shoulders and braced himself for the expected blow or lightning strike.

"Your demon may not enter Heaven. But your soul can. We must extract the former in order to cleanse the latter."

"I need a soul cleansing? Huh. Don't remember reading about anything like that in the catechism. What do I need to do for that then?"

"You need do nothing. We must do it." The room's white interior began to waver, red streaks flickering up and down the walls. "Are you prepared, demon? We warn you. This will be quick but it will seem like an eternity and the pain is beyond your imagining."

"Get on with it, then," Spike grunted. The rosy flickers along the wall brightened in intensity. Then the flames surged towards him and enveloped his form. He didn't feel like laughing this time. His body writhed and he screamed in agony. His consciousness shredded at the corners and his mind was stripped away from him. 

The pain vanished and an eerie peace descended. Was this Heaven? Strange—he'd imagined punk music somewhere in the offing...

Inside the Initiative the tank that had contained William the Bloody aka Spike most recently designated Hostile 17 automatically began its own cleansing as the now-grayish saltwater containing his sodden ashes swirled faster and faster down the extraction tube. In moments, the fluid had drained away completely leaving a storage facility empty except for the IV tubes that had provided his blood hanging limply along its insides. 

Glinting abandoned and forgotten on the floor was his government-installed chip, the final forlorn relic of the former Big Bad.

Finis


End file.
